


However You'll Take Me

by Rosawyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Biphobia, Coming Out, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester Has a Panty Kink, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester is So Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28202589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosawyn/pseuds/Rosawyn
Summary: Dean wishes he was gay so that he could marry Cas.  It doesn't quite cross his mind that maybe Cas would marry him anyway.  Maybe he should try to have these sorts of conversations while sober.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 19
Kudos: 154
Collections: ProfoundBond Prompt Collection





	However You'll Take Me

“Cas,” Dean said, slurring his words a bit as he pressed closer into Castiel's side. The alcohol had him feeling pleasantly warm and Cas felt even warmer and even more pleasant.

“Hmm?” Castiel took another swallow of his beer.

“I wish I was gay,” Dean admitted, turning his half-empty beer bottle in his hands. It was—at least?—the third one he'd had that evening. They'd done a few shots as well. It was Friday night so neither of them had to work in the morning.

Castiel chuckled, sounding surprised. “You what?”

“Wish I was gay,” Dean repeated. Maybe this wasn't really...the sort of thing he was supposed to say out loud, but...Castiel was his best friend. His very best friend. And Dean was a bit drunk, and everyone said things while drunk they wouldn't say normally.

Castiel shifted a little on the couch. “But...why would you want that?”

“Because then,” Dean reasoned, pressing even closer and tipping his face up so he could look at Castiel, “the two of us could get married.”

Chuckling again in apparent disbelief, Castiel shook his head and leaned forward to set his not quite empty beer bottle on the coffee table with a hollow sort of thunk. “But why would you want to get married?”

“Well, I dunno,” Dean said, curling in on himself and feeling a touch more vulnerable now that Castiel had pulled away a bit. He scrunched up his face and looked down at the glass bottle in his hands. “I've just been thinking about it a lot, I guess.”

Castiel turned his whole body to face Dean. “You've been thinking about marrying me?”

“Well, I mean...” Dean let out a breath, shoving a hand back through his hair. The beer he had left in the bottle sloshed a bit as he shifted to fold his legs under himself. “I'm over thirty now.”

Castiel hummed, folding his hands in his lap. “I suppose that is a typical time to start thinking about such things.”

“Exactly.” Dean gestured with one open hand adding, “I mean, Sam's married already. And even _Adam's_ just got engaged.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “He's ten years younger than I am. I guess I'm starting to feel like the immature brother, getting left behind while everyone else grows up.”

“Benny,” Castiel commented, “is older than you and isn't married.”

“But he was.” Dean shrugged. “He's got a daughter and everything.”

Castiel considered that, nodding. “Okay, so you want to get married.” He rubbed at his arm and added, “Because you've got to that point in your life and you feel like you'd better do it soon before you lose your chance.”

“That's...” Dean's brows twisted and he pursed his lips. “Pretty much it, yeah.”

Castiel scrunched up his face. “But why me?”

“Well, I...” Dean ducked his head, cheeks heating a little. He had, even while sober, considered this topic a bit too much to be fully comfortable admitting it. “I don't know, Cas.” He worried one of his thumbs with the other. “I mean, who else am I gonna marry?” Grimacing, he pushed on, “Which is why it would help a lot if I was _gay_ , because I mean...you're gay. And I doubt you'd want to marry someone who wasn't.”

“Well, technically.” Castiel's lips twitched a bit and he looked away. “I'm not _entirely_ gay.”

Dean gaped at him. He'd known Castiel for more than five years now and this was the first he was hearing anything other than 'gay'. He shook his head, slightly dizzy from the alcohol. “You're what now?”

Castiel's shoulders rose and fell in a small shrug. “I usually say I'm gay for simplicity's sake, but really...I'm a bit...bi, or 'bi-curious'...or 'homo-flexible' or whatever you want to call it. About a five on the Kinsey scale.”

“Huh.” Dean nodded, absorbing that new information. “Well, that's cool.”

Castiel shrugged. “It doesn't tend to go over so well amongst gay men, in my experience and understanding.”

Dean scrunched up his nose at that. “What, they want you to pick one or the other?”

Castiel nodded and worried his lower lip a bit. “There's a lot of...'one foot in the closet' accusations.”

Dean blew out a dismissive breath. “In your case, that'd be more like 'one toe' in, wouldn't it?”

Castiel's features broke into a soft grin and he met Dean's eyes under his mop of messy dark hair. “Something like that, I guess.”

“Is that why—?” Dean frowned. “Is that why you've always been single the whole time I've known you? Never really seem to date anyone? I never thought it was much of my business. I mean, I've been single too and I figure everyone's got their reasons.” Dean had of course dated a bit, if random anonymous hookups counted as 'dates'. He'd always sort of assumed Cas was doing the same, but at gay bars. Or on Grindr. Dean hadn't particularly wanted to know. “But if these guys are being jerks to you, like you can't be in their exclusive 'gay club' unless you're not fully honest about who you are and what you like...”

“A minute ago you wanted to be gay,” Castiel pointed out.

Dean smirked a bit, ducking his head. “Yeah, well,” he countered, “you gotta admit it would simplify things.”

“Is there something _not_ simple about being straight?” Castiel asked with a confused frown, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, I...” Dean rubbed at the back of his neck then reached over and set his beer bottle on the coffee table since he hadn't been drinking it for a while anyway. He scrunched up his face a bit. With a shrug, he said, “I guess it turns out you and I are a lot more alike than I thought.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side again, frowning deeper. “How do you mean?”

“Well...I...” Dean looked away. “I'm not—” He rubbed at the back of his neck again. “I don't think I've ever been one-hundred percent straight.” He chanced a glance at Castiel's face only to see the frown deepening even further and scrambled to justify himself, saying, “You know that dumb show I like? 'Doctor Sexy'?” Castiel nodded and Dean pressed on, “I've always had a...bit of a crush on the guy, on Doctor Sexy.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side again. “I always assumed you just wanted to be him, be like him.”

“That's part of it,” Dean agreed. “But it's...more than that. I think.”

“Dean,” Castiel said with a touch of an indulgent smile, “you're drunk right now, and—”

With a frustrated breath and a disgusted roll of his eyes, Dean pushed himself up and walked—a little unsteadily, admittedly—to the window. He put both hands on the sill and looked out over his darkened back yard. “You think I've never thought about any of this while sober, Cas? Just because I don't say something out loud doesn't mean I wasn't thinking about it. And anyway,” he blurted, “if you need more gay cred to believe me, I dated a couple of guys in college.”

After a quiet moment, Castiel said, “I apologize. I never meant to imply...”

Dean waved a hand. “Don't worry about it. 'Two drink bisexual'; it's a stereotype for a reason, I guess.”

“It's an unfair stereotype,” Castiel countered.

Dean shrugged, worrying his lip a little and looking back at Castiel. “I'm sure it happens.” Castiel shrugged noncommittally but he kept looking at Dean like he was _dying_ to ask but wasn't quite drunk enough to break whatever code of etiquette that happened to be, so Dean finally took pity on him, turning to look back out the window and saying, “First guy was Nick Munroe. He and I had a couple classes together second semester of my freshman year. He was...very into me, very obviously interested. I was...I dunno, Cas, I was young and stupid. I liked the attention. Liked how it felt. And I figured...” He shrugged. “I was in college, right? That's when you're supposed to experiment with stuff like that. So I went along with it.” He glanced back at Castiel. “Sam knows about this, by the way. It's not like I exactly kept it a secret.” Looking out the window again, he sighed. “It didn't exactly...go well, though. He was obsessive, controlling, demanding. So, uh, after I'd finally managed to drop his ass, I...tried again. With Aaron Bass. He seemed cool.” Dean scrunched up his face at the memory. “But it turned out he wasn't as into me as I thought.” He shrugged. “So, I mean, I just kind of gave up at that point. Went back to what I knew.” He made a vague gesture with one hand. “Experiment failed: subject is effectively straight.”

After a beat, Castiel commented, “Effectively.”

Dean shrugged. “Well, I've never had any trouble finding women willing to go to bed with me.”

“But Dean,” Castiel said, “are you saying you feel attraction towards men?”

“I have no idea what I feel,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I just...” He sighed, turning a wobbly sort of smile on Castiel. “I want...a lot...to spend the rest of my life with you. Is that—is that stupid?”

Castiel grimaced a bit and looked away, rubbing at his forehead. “I don't know if I'd ever say it's 'stupid', Dean. I'm just trying...to understand what you mean here.” He scrunched up his nose. “You're not even sure if you find men attractive, much less me specifically, and yet you want to marry me?”

“Well,” Dean said, walking over and snagging his unfinished beer again before flopping down on the couch, “that's why I wished I could be gay.” He took a swallow of beer then gestured with the bottle. “It would simplify a lot of things. But unfortunately I like women too damn much. So I guess the best I could hope for is being bi.”

Raising his brows, Castiel reached for his beer and took a swallow of it as well. “We have just now, in case you've forgotten, established that I myself am technically bi.”

“Yeah, but you're more on the other end of that spectrum,” Dean said.

“It's not a competition,” Castiel said, looking down at the beer bottle and turning it in his hands.

“I do, by the way,” Dean said, rubbing at his nose with one hand, “like to wear pink, satiny underwear sometimes for...sexual reasons, and—that's...kind of gay. I think.”

Castiel twisted his brows and tilted his head to one side. “Clothing preferences have nothing to do with sexual orientation.”

Dean snorted inelegantly and flicked his brows upward. “Yeah, well, try to find a straight guy who'll admit to liking that sort of thing—or even one who'd ever try it in the first place to find out if he likes it. You're not gonna get very far.”

A grin spread out over Castiel's face and he chuckled, shaking his head. “I don't think I'd get very far with most straight guys at all, Dean.” He took a sip of beer, still grinning. “Much less if I tried to offer them lingerie.”

Dean laughed. “Okay, fair point.” Scrubbing his fingers back through his hair, Dean went on, “Anyway, so far as marriage goes...when I was back in college I was taking...” He frowned, looking away. “Some class—could have been history, I guess. And the professor said that arranged marriages didn't—and I guess don't, since some people still do it that way in some places—have any lower of a success rate than those based 'on love'; apparently success in a marriage isn't all about feelings, or attraction, or any of that: it's about making a choice, a commitment, and then following through on that. I'm sure,” he added, rubbing at his stubble, “that feelings can help, sometimes, to some extent. But you know plenty of heterosexual couples aren't actually having sex, despite being married—and no one tries to tell them their marriages aren't valid because of that. It's no one's business, really.” He twisted his lips thoughtfully. “There's a lot more to marriage, to making a life with someone. Like kids, for example.”

Castiel pressed his lips together, eyes somehow managing to look confusingly sad and hopeful at the same time. “You're thinking about kids?”

Dean nodded, chewing on his lower lip a bit. “I've always wanted kids.” He nodded again. “And I think maybe...I'm at the point where I could see myself actually doing that.” He chuckled softly, ducking his head. “Sam's moved out and even Adam's only home a few weekend's a year now. The house is starting to feel unnaturally quiet, empty.” He scrunched up his nose and took a swallow of his beer. “And anyway, I guess I'd like to have some kids before I'm too old to keep up with them.”

“How many would you want?” Castiel asked softly.

Dean twisted his lips a bit. “I think four seems like a good number. Two at least, but four if I can make that work.” He gestured about with his beer bottle. “I could fit four kids into this place so long as Adam's fully moved out: two to a room. That's pretty reasonable.”

Castiel nodded. “It is.”

Dean grinned, feeling a little dopey. His cheeks heated a bit more, either from the alcohol or the image that came swimming into his mind of Castiel snuggling a little baby in his arms and beaming at Dean. Feeling a little off-balance, Dean said, “Yeah.”

“You realize,” Castiel said, one corner of his lips curling upwards, “that having children would be considerably easier with a female partner.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Adoption is a thing, Cas. That's how most same-sex couples do it, as far as I know.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “It's how penguins do it.”

“But you're...” Castiel shifted a bit on the couch, features flickering with discomfort. “You're saying you'd want a sexless marriage. Just...all the other stuff, including kids, but no actual physical intimacy.”

“We already have physical intimacy,” Dean pointed out. “To some degree.” They cuddled all the time. Which, again, not super-straight, if Dean was trying to keep score. When the silence began to stretch out a bit between then, Dean tried to meet Castiel's gaze and offered, “It's nice.”

Castiel glanced at the wall clock and then frowned and pulled out his phone. “Shit, it really is late.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek and checked his own phone. It was about a normal time for how late the two of them would stay up on a Friday night drinking, but it was kind of... _objectively_ late. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He raised his brows a bit. “You got somewhere to be tomorrow?”

“It already is 'tomorrow',” Castiel said with a bit of a laugh as he stood up, sliding his phone into his pocket. “But thank you for the beer.”

“Yeah, uh.” Dean pushed himself up to follow Castiel to the door, head feeling fuzzy. Maybe he'd been this fuzzy the whole time and not minded. That was the point of alcohol, after all. “Maybe we could, uh, hang out tomorrow. If you're not busy.”

“Sure, text me,” Castiel said, pausing at the door. “Good night.”

And then he was gone, the sound of the door somehow making the space feel that much more empty. Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, wondering why he felt like he'd done something wrong.

o0o

Dean blinked the worst of the groggy just-waking-up feeling away before he suddenly remembered and his eyes flew open in a panic. Shit. _Shit_.

He'd actually said all of that to Castiel, hadn't he? Gotten fucking stupid giddy drunk and started spouting off about marriage and kids. Groaning, Dean rolled over and shoved his face into the pillow. Castiel had shot him down multiple times and Dean had been too drunk and self-absorbed even to notice.

Reasoning that panicking couldn't really help, Dean made himself crawl out of bed and shower and shave and brush his teeth and even have a breakfast of toast and coffee.

Anyway, one thing Dean Winchester had was charisma. He'd talked himself out of worse situations with people far scarier than Castiel. If Dean put in a bit of effort he should be able to smooth this over.

o0o

It was just shortly after eleven thirty when Dean rapped on Castiel's door. The front door had a bell, but it had been years since Dean had come to Castiel's front door. The side door was just more convenient, and this way Castiel would know it was him. Dean could have texted or called first, but...

He probably should have texted or called.

Dean was halfheartedly fumbling for his phone when the door opened and there stood Castiel looking at least a little less hungover than Dean felt. He didn't exactly smile at the sight of Dean, though, so Dean held up his hands and tried, “Look, Cas, I'm really sorry about all that dumb stuff I said last night. I was...drunk. Um, obviously. So can we just treat it all like a drunk text and pretend it didn't happen?”

Castiel stared at him, hand still on the doorknob, for an awkwardly long pause. He didn't look particularly relieved or amused or...whatever Dean had been hoping for as a best case scenario. Dean wasn't really sure what he'd been hoping for. Finally Castiel said, “I...suppose that would be best.”

Dean tried to smile, somehow feeling too jumpy to feel properly relieved. But maybe this _was_ the best case scenario. “Yeah. Damn, uh.” Dean rubbed at his nose, an embarrassed smile tugging at his features. “I just really...don't want things to be awkward between us.”

Castiel nodded. “Would you...” He pushed the door a bit further open. “...like to come in? I was about to make lunch. I can make enough for the two of us.”

Dean grinned, finally feeling at least a little relieved. “Sure, um, if you want. What're you making?”

“Sandwiches,” Castiel said, turning to walk into the kitchen. He nodded towards the cupboards and said, “If you could help by setting the table.”

“Yeah, of course.”

o0o

“So, uh,” Sam said, turning to smile at Dean in the setting sun, “not that I'm complaining, 'cause I'm not—it's nice to hang out just you and me like this. We don't hang out enough anymore.”

Dean shrugged, enjoying the sturdy feel of the Impala against his back where the two of them laid on the hood. “I mean, you're married; I'm sure it's pretty normal that Jess takes up a lot of your time. And Adam had plans with his friends again this weekend.” Which probably also included plans with his fiancé. “But he says he'll be home for Thanksgiving, definitely.”

“I remember what it was like in college,” Sam said, taking a sip of his beer.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean agreed. “Though mine was just community college,” he added, flashing Sam a grin, “not like you two smarty-pants.”

“But I more meant like...where's Cas?” Sam frowned slightly. “Don't you usually bring him along on these sorts of things?”

“Only two of us can fit on the hood,” Dean reasoned.

“You had a couple folding chairs in the trunk last time,” Sam said, shaking his floppy hair out of his face. “Jess came, and she sat in one of them.”

Dean nodded, remembering. “How's Jess doing, anyway?”

“She's good,” Sam said, nodding and taking another sip of beer. “Work's been really busy but she's excited. Loving it.”

Dean smiled. “That's good. That's the best kind of busy: when it's fun.”

Sam nodded again. “For sure.” After a beat he asked, “How's Cas?”

Dean winced and Sam shot him a worried frown. Dean groaned and only just suppressed the urge to hide his face. “I...think I may have fucked things up really badly.”

Sam's frown deepened. “How so?”

Dean sighed, looking away towards the tree-lined hills in the distance. “A week ago...yeah, it's been a week now. We were hanging out, drinking.”

“As you do,” Sam commented, hefting his own beer bottle.

Dean smirked a bit. “We, uh...did some shots first, so I was feeling pretty buzzed.” He wrinkled his nose. “I don't know, Sammy. I started saying some really stupid stuff, and...” Dean sighed, rubbing at his arm though his shirt.

“Stuff like...?” Sam prompted.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, apparently I'm really stupid when I'm drunk.”

Sam snickered. “This I know.” Dean elbowed him for that and Sam said, “Okay, but what did you say?”

Dean bit the inside of his lip. “Uh...just that...I wanted to marry him.”

Sam laughed in breathless disbelief and Dean elbowed him harder for that. Still laughing, Sam held up his hands in surrender—which looked a bit silly because he had a beer in one of them. “Sorry, sorry.” Grinning, he shook his head and took a swallow of his beer. “You gotta admit, Dean: you and I have both done some dumb things while drunk...but proposing is a new one.”

“Well, I...” Dean grumbled, scratching at the side of his nose, “even drunk as I was I didn't actually expect him to say yes.”

Sam gaped at Dean for a moment. “And he...didn't say yes.”

“Of course he didn't!” Dean snapped. “I even tried to apologize the next day, and I thought maybe that had gone okay, but now he won't even talk to me.”

“Okay, but...” Sam frowned, shaking his hair off his forehead again. “Let's rewind back to that part where you didn't expect him to say yes.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam. “What about it?”

“Well...” Sam said, lengthening the vowel sound annoyingly. “Why?”

“Why what?” Dean snapped, tired of Sam not being helpful. Not that Dean himself could think of a way Sam might actually be able to help, but at least he could be a non-judgmental listening ear or something. That was the whole reason the two of them were here, after all, the whole reason Dean wanted to talk to Sam in the first place.

“Why wouldn't you expect him to say yes?” Sam clarified. Dean stared at Sam until Sam added, “You do know he's gay, right?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean let out an exasperated huff. “Yeah, a hell of a lot more gay than I am; believe me, I am aware.” When Sam insisted on continuing to gape in apparent disbelief, Dean grumbled, “Look, I didn't actually 'propose'. I didn't ask him to marry me; I just said that I _wanted_ to marry him.” Sam let out a disbelieving giggle and Dean shot him another glare. “There's a _difference_.”

“I'm sure there is,” Sam commented.

“Look, he...didn't want to marry me anyway,” Dean groused. “This thing,” he added gesturing bitterly in front of himself with one hand, “was entirely one-sided.”

Sam stared at Dean until Dean was about to snap at him and then finally Sam said, “What universe have I been living in?”

Dean glared at him. “What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Dude,” Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Cas is crazy about you.”

“Yeah, as a friend,” Dean countered. “A fully platonic guy friend who happens to be gay and likes to cuddle sometimes, because apparently that's totally normal and healthy.” The remaining beer in Dean's bottle sloshed as he gestured with it. “He made it very clear that he doesn't want to marry me and have a bunch of kids together.”

Sam twisted his brows in incredulity. “You brought up kids?”

“ _Yes_ , dammit, Sammy.” Dean heaved a sigh, folding his arms tight across his chest. “I almost thought he was interested in the whole idea at that point, but then he shot me the hell down. I was drunk, okay? I thought maybe he'd understand the drunk thing when I tried to apologize, but now he just responds to my texts after several hours with only one or two words and brushes me off.”

“Maybe he needs a little time,” Sam suggested.

“Yeah, well.” Dean tightened his arms across his chest. “He agreed we'd just forget the whole thing happened. Go on like normal, like I hadn't said anything. But obviously that's not what he's actually doing.”

“Feelings can be...complicated,” Sam said.

Feelings certainly were complicated. Dean himself was about ready to crawl out of his skin with how badly he missed Castiel. “I just want him to _talk_ to me, for things to go back to the way they were. Things were _good_. Why can't things just go back to the way they were?”

“It's only been a week,” Sam reasoned.

“Hey, the last time Cas and I went a week without talking was...” Dean frowned. “Um.” His cheeks heated a little. “Probably before we met.”

“Wow,” Sam said.

Dean hung his head in defeat. “This is just...the worst, Sammy.”

“Want me to talk to him?” Sam offered.

“What? No.” Dean shot Sam a confused look. “What could you even do?”

Sam grimaced. “I dunno, try to get his side of things, maybe.”

Dean rolled his eyes and tightened his arms across his chest again. “I'm pretty sure I already know 'his side', Sam: he had a whole list of objections that he was happy to share.”

Sam considered Dean for a moment. “Such as?”

Dean let out a quiet huff of frustration. “I'm not gay enough for him. For one thing.”

Sam's expression twisted into a confused frown. “He...has a problem with you being bi?”

“Did I ever say I was bi?” Dean demanded.

Sam raised his brows. “Well, uh...feel free to pick whatever label you prefer, but you did by your own admission want to marry a man.”

Dean rubbed a hand down his face. “These things with guys never work out. I told him about that, by the way, about Nick and Aaron. He thinks I'd be happier with a woman; he kept saying it.” Dean took a swallow of his beer. “He's probably right, even though I've never had a relationship with a woman last longer than about two weeks.” Snorting softly, Dean shook his head. “I was with Nick at least that long.” Dean's lips twisted in distaste at the realization, “Pretty sure Nick fucking Munroe was the longest relationship I've ever had.”

“Dean,” Sam tried, “that doesn't count.”

“He and I dated,” Dean snapped. “I even liked it at first. I'm pretty sure it fucking counts.”

“I didn't mean—” Sam sighed. “I just meant...you wanted to be rid of him after about a week. Being stuck in a relationship where you feel trapped, used, and unhappy...I don't think that should really be what you're using as a bar to measure future relationships against.”

Dean shifted, adjusting his arms across his chest. “I dunno if he ever made me feel 'used'. Unhappy, sure.” Dean scrunched up his face and shifted again. “But I don't wanna talk about him.”

“So let's go back to Cas, then,” Sam suggested.

“Sure.” Dean rubbed at his nose. Maybe there really was some way to fix this. Sam was smart. And he was married, which meant he might actually know a thing or two about relationships.

“You said Cas thinks you're not gay enough for him,” Sam prompted.

Dean sighed, draining the last of his beer and making an unimpressed face at the empty bottle. “I told him about my stupid crush on Doctor Sexy, about my college experimental phase...”

“Did you actually call it that?” Sam asked.

“What?” Dean frowned at him. “'Experimental phase'?”

“Yeah,” Sam said.

Dean's features twisted with incredulity. “Yeah? So what. Is that bad or something?” Sam grimaced like he was about to give Dean some obnoxious lecture about correct modern terminology. “Katy Perry says it in the song,” Dean pointed out. “And she's bi.”

“I don't think we should really be taking advice of this nature from pop songs,” Sam said, because he could be a bitch like that. “Also,” he added, “since when do you listen to pop?”

“Girl on girl is hot,” Dean countered. “Even when it's pop.”

“I'm not sure Cas would agree with you,” Sam commented.

“He _might_ ,” Dean shot back. Because Castiel was...sort of bi too. They'd talked about that. They'd agreed to pretend the entire conversation didn't happen, but clearly Castiel hadn't been upholding that so Dean probably didn't have to either. “I just—” Dean said in frustration. “I don't know what more he wants from me! I even told him about my panty kink.”

“Wow, gross,” Sam commented, looking like he'd just stepped in something vile. “I did _not_ need to hear about that.”

“I'm just _saying_!” Dean gestured broadly with the empty beer bottle. “How much more evidence does he need? I gave him...at least four pieces of evidence. That should be enough, I think.”

“It's not about 'evidence',” Sam countered, exasperated. He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I think I'm starting to understand why this didn't work out.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“Dean,” Sam said, rolling partway onto his side and fixing Dean with a serious gaze. “You need to tell him how you feel about him.”

Dean stared at Sam a little stupidly. “About...him.”

“Yes,” Sam said. “And do it while sober. Don't get hung up on pointless details like where you fall on the Kinsey scale.”

“He brought Kinsey up first,” Dean argued weakly.

“Okay, but my point is,” Sam continued, “this isn't about Kinsey or Nick or Aaron or anyone else. This is about you and Cas. About how you feel when you're around him and how you feel when you're not. About how it feels to see him smile, or when he's sad. It's about how he's the most important person in your life and...it probably wouldn't hurt to throw in a compliment or two about his eyes.”

Dean's brows twisted and he gave Sam a sideways look. “His...eyes.”

“Well, I don't know.” Sam shrugged. “They are probably his most striking feature, but just pick whatever you personally like. His hair. I dunno. His abs.”

Dean raised his brow even higher at that, one side of his lips curling upwards. “You been checking out Cas' abs, Sammy?”

Rolling his eyes, Sam flopped down on his back again. “You're the one who wants to marry him. I assume you've got your reasons, and to be perfectly honest I don't need to know the details.”

“Since when do you get to be the expert on proposals?” Dean grumbled.

“Since I actually got married to the person I proposed to,” Sam answered with a laugh.

That was...a fair point. Probably. Dean made an unhappy face. Even Adam had managed to get someone to say yes to his proposal. Both of Dean's brothers were officially better at life than he was. It was kind of depressing. Okay, it was a lot depressing.

Finally, Sam rolled partway onto his side again and said, “Dean, you do really want to marry Cas, right?”

“Well, I did until he didn't want to!” Dean answered, gesturing helplessly with one hand.

“Okay, well, do this as a favour to yourself,” Sam said, putting his hand over Dean's heart for a moment, “and a favour to him.” He waved his hand in a circular, encompassing gesture. “And as a favour to everyone else too.”

“You just want me to get rejected while sober,” Dean grumbled.

“I don't think you'll get rejected,” Sam argued. After a beat, he added, “And even if you do, at least then you know it wasn't just 'cause you were drunk off your ass.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “For a second there, it sounded like a real vote of confidence.”

“You wanna call Adam and ask his advice?” Sam teased.

“No.” Dean shot Sam a glare. “No, I do not want to ask my baby brother for relationship advice.”

“He is engaged now,” Sam pointed out.

“Right, like that's an accomplishment,” Dean said, climbing off the car and stretching his limbs to get the blood flowing properly again. “I could go get engaged tonight if I wanted. It's not like it would be hard. Just walk into any random bar,” he reasoned, gesturing to his face, “looking like this.”

“You might try using some of that confidence with Cas,” Sam commented as he slid off the hood as well.

Dean managed to avoid visibly wincing. The thing was, he didn't feel very confident around Cas. Not when it came to this, anyway. Wrinkling his nose at Sam, Dean said, “I'm sure you know all about how to get the guys, Sammy.”

“Do I get to be the best man at your wedding?” Sam asked, walking around the front of the car and shaking his hair off his forehead.

“Sam—” Dean looked away, letting out a helpless breath. “I don't think—I really don't think...” He grimaced. “I'm pretty sure he's just going to shoot me down again.”

“Hey,” Sam said, pulling Dean into a hug. As he pulled back, he said, “Give yourself another chance.” He clapped Dean on the bicep. “Okay?”

Dean finally just said, “Okay,” to get Sam to stop looking at him like that.

o0o

Dean stood outside Castiel's door, psyching himself up. Castiel's car was in the driveway so it was pretty likely he was home. And it wasn't creepily early or uncomfortably late. Dean was freshly showered and maybe he'd put on his _nice_ jeans and a t-shirt he might wear on a date, but he was trying to do this right this time and it _was_ still jeans and a t-shirt so he hadn't exactly over-dressed for the occasion.

Dean exhaled. This was fine. He could do this. He had his knuckles poised over the door when the door swung inwards, revealing a Castiel who clearly did not expect to see him.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel said. “Hello.”

It took Dean a moment to process that Castiel was in the middle of trying to take the garbage out and Dean was in his way. “Oh, sorry,” Dean said, stepping to the side.

“Sorry, I wasn't expecting visitors,” Castiel said as he moved past Dean, dragging the heavy bag to the curb. It took another moment for Dean to process that Castiel was wearing a stained white shirt and worn sweatpants.

“Yeah, sorry I, uh...” Dean trailed after Castiel, feeling awkward and off-balance because this really was not going the way he'd imagined it in his head. “I didn't call or text or anything.” He scrunched up his nose a bit, looking up and down the street at how most of the houses had garbage out front. “I guess it is garbage day tomorrow.”

“Every Monday and Thursday,” Castiel said, as though Dean needed the reminder. Maybe he did. He wasn't really sure when he'd last taken his own garbage out. Must have been Wednesday night. He would have noticed if anything was about to overflow, and just one person didn't generate all that much garbage anyway, so it was fine. Turning back towards the house, Castiel gestured towards the walkway back to the side door. “I assume you...wanted to come inside?”

“Um, yeah,” Dean said. “If—if that's okay.”

“I'm just...” Castiel commented as he walked back along the path, “not really dressed for company.”

“I swear I'm not offended,” Dean offered with a bit of a grin.

“Why would you be?” Castiel muttered as he opened the door.

“So you are mad at me,” Dean commented, because there was a clear edge of bitterness in that rhetorical question. “That's why I'm here, actually,” Dean clarified, stepping through the door quickly as though Castiel might close it in his face. Not that he actually thought Castiel would, but...best to be safe. “I mean, I...” Dean grimaced as Castiel just shot him a tired look as he went to the sink to wash his hands. “Obviously I botched my first attempt at an apology, because you haven't talked to me since.”

“We're talking right now,” Castiel deadpanned as he reached for the towel. “And this is the first time you've come over since last weekend, so I'm not sure I—”

“You wouldn't even respond to my texts!” Dean accused.

Frowning, Castiel finished drying his hands and hung the towel up again then pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked the screen. “I have responded to every one of your texts.”

With a frustrated huff, Dean leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “Yeah, after like seven to ten hours, and then it's just like one or two words, as if that counts.” He nodded his head towards Castiel's phone. “The most recent was me asking how's it going and you saying 'fine' six and a half hours later.”

Frowning slightly, Castiel flicked the screen back off and slid the phone into his pocket. “Is it creepy that you remembered that in such detail?”

“I don't know, Cas.” Dean spread his hands in helplessness. “Is it rude that you've been more than halfways ghosting me? After you agreed that we'd forget that stupid conversation even happened?”

With a quiet sigh, Castiel cast his gaze heavenwards as though for help. “You're the one who brought it up.”

“Because you're avoiding me, ignoring me,” Dean countered. He winced, biting his lip. “You're the most important person in my life, Cas. I've been going out of my mind. I don't know how to function when you're mad at me. Obviously I...have to apologize. Apparently _for_ my first apology, because that's when you really seemed to get angry, and the only thing I can think of that I could have done wrong—because honestly I didn't say very much—was say let's pretend it never happened, so I'm saying now: let's un-pretend.” He met Castiel's eyes with the most determined gaze he could muster. “It happened.” He spread his hands slightly then let them fall against his thighs. “Let's deal with it.”

“All right, well...” Castiel grimaced slightly and shrugged his shoulders. “You were drunk and said a bunch of stuff you didn't mean, and I'm mature enough to accept that.”

“But, Cas, that's my _point_ ,” Dean said, taking two exasperated steps closer to Castiel. “It wasn't just—some drunk thing. And I did mean it. Well, parts of it. I meant the important parts.” He winced, closing his eyes and tipping his head backwards. Why was he so _bad_ at this? “Cas, I swear to God I am stone cold sober right now,” he tried, meeting Castiel's eyes. “I had a couple of beers with Sam last night but all I've had to drink so far today other than water was a cup of coffee. And...I still want to marry you; that was nothing to do with being drunk.”

Castiel turned away quickly and moved towards the living room. “Can we please not do this, Dean? I've had...a rough week.”

“What?” Dean shook his head and chased after Castiel's retreating form, catching him by the shoulder with one helpless hand. “Cas, please. Don't do what?”

Castiel roughly brushed Dean's hand off and turned his head to look upon Dean with flashing anger. “Can we not do the thing where you're so desperate to get married you'd even consider _me_ as a viable option, despite all the obviously valid reasons that's a terrible idea? I don't need to be told _again_ how I'm your last resort and how that's supposed to be a compliment.”

“What?” Dean gaped at Castiel helplessly. “Cas, no. No.” Wincing, he squeezed his eyes shut. “I...I knew I explained things badly, because, you know: drunk.” He looked at Castiel with apologetic eyes. “I just...didn't realize it had been quite that bad.”

Castiel's shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes. “Fine. Please...elaborate.”

“Cas,” Dean tried, wetting his lips and worrying the lower one a bit, “you're not a 'last resort'. You're my first choice. Uh, pretty much the only choice I'd consider.” He grinned a little, gesturing in the general direction of his house. “If Kate Winslet, Natalie Portman, Mila Kunis, and Doctor Sexy himself were all to come to my front door tomorrow and each declare their undying love and beg for my hand in marriage, I'd still rather have you.”

Castiel turned slowly to face Dean, eyes narrowed in confusion. “I suppose,” he said, clearing his throat, “that is a compliment.”

“Yeah, uh.” Dean dropped his gaze, shifting nervously and feeling his cheeks heat. Sam had said a few compliments couldn't hurt. “I also like, um...” He seriously would go with 'eyes' because, duh, Sam was right that they were certainly a stand-out feature, but since Sam had said it, it didn't feel like _Dean's_ idea anymore. It would be like copying off his brother's homework, and Dean was pretty sure a proposal was supposed to come from his heart. He finally settled on, “Your hands.”

Castiel stared at him. “My...hands.”

“Yeah, um,” Dean said, feeling foolish. The thing was, it was _true_ that he liked Castiel's hands, but how the hell did a person manage a compliment of someone's hands without sounding stupid? “I just, um...” Dean floundered. Maybe he could just try to be honest and hope for the best. “I like to—to imagine you running them though my hair. Or just—holding hands. If that was...a thing that we did.”

Castiel reached out hesitantly and took Dean's hand in his own. Dean's heart hammered painfully in his chest and he might have forgotten to breathe. Castiel laced their fingers together and raised his gaze to meet Dean's. “Like this?”

Dean swallowed roughly, managing just barely to say, “Yeah.”

Castiel's other hand came up slowly as though expecting Dean to flinch away. “Is this okay?” Castiel asked, stroking the side of Dean's face gently and carefully.

Dean let his eyes fall shut at the feeling. It was all too much. He was _trembling_. Finally he managed, “Jesus, Cas.”

Castiel hummed thoughtfully. He started to pull his hand away, and Dean made an embarrassingly plaintive noise in protest. Castiel chuckled, patting Dean's cheek. “I suppose you really do like my hands.”

“Yeah,” Dean managed, voice rough. But he was supposed to be telling Castiel how he felt about him, and he didn't think he'd quite got that far yet, for all that things did indeed seem to be better. Maybe this was important. It kind of felt important. “Cas, I...” He winced, biting his lip and caught Castiel's wrist because as much as Dean loved the feeling of Castiel's hand on his face it was distracting and he needed to say this. He stroked Castiel's wrist a little, hoping he didn't feel rejected by Dean pulling the hand away from his face. “I know I'm not...good at this. At any of it. Feelings, talking about them. But, God, Cas, I just... When you're sad, I want to make it better, and when you're angry at me I feel like I can't breathe. When we're apart, I miss you, and the longer it is the worse it gets. When you smile at me, I want to do whatever I can to make you smile like that at me again. I don't think it really matters how bi I am or how gay I'm _not_ , because...you're the one I want to be with, the one I want to spend my life with, to grow old together...with. I don't really know what all of that means, but I don't think it's entirely platonic.” Swallowing, he added, “And if you don't want to marry me, that's fine. I could live with that. So long as you still talk to me, so long as we still spend time together and—” He blinked his burning eyes. “So long as I haven't ruined this completely. I just want you back, Cas. However you'll take me.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, voice deep and rough, “if you're asking me to marry you...”

“I don't have a ring or anything.” Dean ducked his head, cheeks heating.

“Maybe I'll get you one,” Castiel suggested.

Dean couldn't help grinning all broad and stupid at that thought. “Yeah?”

“You'd like that?” Castiel checked as he tugged gently on Dean's hands to draw him closer as he backed slowly towards the living room.

Dean focused on not tripping over his own feet as he followed. “Yeah! I mean, uh, they have...sorta manly ones, right?”

Castiel chuckled. “They have many different styles. Perhaps we could pick one out together.”

“Could we both wear engagement rings?” Dean asked. “Is that a...thing?”

“It is,” Castiel confirmed.

Dean grinned. “We could get a matching set.” He shook his head, adding, “But does this mean...” He met Castiel's eyes. “Are you saying yes? You'll marry me?”

Castiel smiled, warm and bright, his eyes shining. “Yes, Dean.” Bringing one of Dean's hands to his lips, he pressed a soft kiss to the back of it then flashed Dean a radiant smile. “I'm saying yes.”

“Oh,” Dean breathed, feeling so light—like he could float away. “But—why?”

Castiel's grin turned rueful, and he looked away a bit, ducking his head. “Dean, I—I've been in love with you for...a very long time. I just...never thought I'd have a chance. I assumed you weren't...interested. Not that way.”

“Cas?” Dean let go of Castiel's wrist to put his hand against Castiel's cheek and guide his face back to looking at him. “Just so we're clear: I am interested. Exactly that way.” Maybe it wasn't the best line he'd ever used, but maybe it still got his point across. Leaning in, he brought his lips to meet Castiel's, gentle and tender, like something from one of Sam's chick-flicks, exactly the way a 'just proposed and got accepted' kiss should go.

At least, it started out that way. They'd never quite made it all the way to the couch, and in the time it took Castiel to shove Dean up against the wall, Dean's entire body was alight. Dean groaned helplessly. Somehow being pinned and trapped felt _so_ good, and... Castiel pulled back, staring at Dean, and breathing, “Oh.”

“Uh...yeah.” Dean chuckled awkwardly, cheeks far too warm to be comfortable. “That's...a boner.” No point in trying to hide it or talk his way out of this one. He was marrying a man: the point of trying not to 'look gay' was long past. His grin slid into something a bit crooked. Was this something he was supposed to apologize for? He didn't particularly feel ashamed. He felt...amused, and maybe a little smug. “Pressing right into your thigh.”

Castiel stared at Dean in wonder. “You find me attractive.”

“Of course I find you attractive!” Dean snapped, suddenly defensive. “Didn't I just—?” He made a quiet sound of exasperation. “I just said that I was. That I was interested: 'that way'.”

“I suppose you did,” Castiel said, pulling back to create some marginal space between their bodies. “It's just that...last week you said...”

Sick worry and guilt twisted painfully in Dean's gut. “What'd I say, Cas? When I was drunk and...even stupider than usual. What did I say?”

“That...” Castiel gave his head a little shake and blinked a couple of times. “You wanted a sexless marriage.”

Dean gaped at him. “I did _not_ say that.” He shook his own head, trying to remember. “I couldn't have said that, wouldn't have.” Grabbing Castiel's shoulders, he gave him a rough squeeze and a bit of a frustrated shove. “I'm not going to consign the both of us to a life of monk-itude.” His lips twisted into a pained and horrified grimace. “Is that what you thought you were agreeing to?”

“Well, you said...” Castiel frowned at the memory. “You said plenty of married couples, straight couples, aren't having sex.”

“Shit.” Dean thunked his head back against the wall, because he actually did remember saying that now that Castiel had brought it up. He blew out a breath, exasperated with himself. “Okay, so I was drunk, as we've many times gone over, and—apparently I was just spewing out every single dumb-ass idea I'd ever had even tangentially relating to you and me and marriage. But, Cas. Even if I _had_ meant it. I'd get like...a week, tops, before I tried to climb you like a tree—I mean, have you looked at yourself lately? You're hot. But yeah, we are definitely not doing that 'sexless marriage' thing. We could do sex without the marriage if you want, but not marriage without the sex.”

Castiel laughed softly, leaning in to kiss Dean. “I love you,” he whispered against Dean's lips. “And you really are an idiot. At least when you're drunk.”

Dean chuckled. “Especially when I'm drunk.” After a beat, he added, “You should, uh, probably know that...there are, um, a few things I've never done. I know I dated a couple of guys, but...there's...stuff. That's going to be new to me. I mean, if you...if you wanted to do it.”

“There is,” Castiel said, finding Dean's hand and lacing his fingers through Dean's once again, “some 'stuff' I've never done either.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean chuckled, cheeks heating anew. “Stuff you'd like to try?”

“Some of it,” Castiel replied. “If you'd be open to it.”

“Well, I'm open to almost anything,” Dean admitted. “I can't guarantee I'll be any good at much. Well, I'm good at hand-jobs, but what guy isn't? I'm sure that doesn't exactly...set me apart.”

Leaning a little closer, Castiel rumbled, “I would love to get a hand-job from you, Dean.”

Dean's dick jumped at that, hardening again as if the prospect of Dean giving Castiel a hand-job had anything at all to do with Dean's own dick. “I swear I can do other things too,” Dean tried. “I'm just...a bit rusty, but...”

“I'm a bit rusty myself,” Castiel admitted. “So if you don't judge me for that...”

“Never,” Dean told him. “Though,” he added with a chuckle, “this might go a bit smoother if one of us has some idea what he's doing.”

“Oh, I assure you,” Castiel said, voice deep and rough as he trailed the fingers of one hand along the lines of Dean's throat, “I do have some measure of knowledge.”

Dean's body twitched with the effort it took to avoid saying, 'God, that's hot', and then he realized he just should have said it. He almost said, 'Sorry,' but realized that wouldn't even make any sense. Finally he settled on a weak, “That's good.”

“Would you wear your panties for me?” Castiel asked, voice a gentle rumble.

“I, uh, I could go get them right now,” Dean offered. “I've got—um, do you have a preference for the colour? They're not all pink. One's purple. And I've got black as well. Or we could just both go to my place, since Adam's not home this weekend, so...um.”

Pulling back a step, Castiel looked down over his own body. “I think perhaps...I should take a shower before we do anything...intimate.”

“Well, we could uh...” Dean suggested, “shower together. If you like.”

Castiel's features softened into a smile. “I'm not sure I could fully restrain myself from jumping you in the shower.”

Dean shivered at that and flashed Castiel a crooked grin, flicking his eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe that's the idea.”

Laughing softly, Castiel ducked his head. “Keep this up, and I might jump you right here.” Dean was about to say he really wouldn't mind when Castiel raised his eyes to Dean's once again and added, “But I want to go slow. I think you deserve that.”

“Cas,” Dean countered with a teasing twist of his lips, “we've known each other for five years: I think anything we do at this point automatically qualifies as 'slow'.”

“That may be true,” Castiel said, smiling in soft amusement. He patted Dean's cheek, eyes fond. “But I think maybe...” He pressed his lips together and looked away, then looked back. “They say anticipation is half the fun. I think perhaps we'll both enjoy it more if we take our time.”

Dean raised his brows. “You're not gonna make me wait until our wedding night are you? Because we haven't even set a date yet.”

Castiel flashed him a warm grin. “Maybe we should save one or two things for the wedding night.”

That wasn't exactly a terrible idea, but... “You're—we're....still going to do something today, right?”

Leaning in, Castiel kissed him. Pulling back he said, “A week ago, Dean, you told me you weren't sure you even found me attractive, and now you're begging me to touch you.”

“I was drunk!” Dean protested, shoving off the wall and following Castiel back through the kitchen towards the side door. Apparently they were heading to Dean's house, finally. Shower and panties, or something like that. Whatever Castiel didn't insist on saving for their wedding night. “How many times do I need to remind you how very drunk I was when I said all that stupid shit?”

Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, Castiel grinned at Dean. “I think I might tell the story to our grandchildren.”

“Just don't leave out the part where I was drunk,” Dean grumbled.

Wrapping his arm around Dean, Castiel pulled him in and pressed a kiss just in front of his ear. “That's the most important part of the story.”


End file.
